Gate Seven
by Jayce Gish
Summary: Nothing to do with "Always"; just something that popped into my brain concerning the ongoing mystery of the identity of Castle's father, and since I haven't posted in a long while, I thought I'd contribute something new. Hey, how many more weeks until Season V? Besides, Jeff Fillion is just as ruggedly handsome as his kid brother!


**GATE SEVEN**

**NOT RELATED TO "ALWAYS"! Just a thought that was placed in my mind by some unknown muse, and that keeps grabbing my attention. Figured that I needed to put it down on paper, and since it has been a while since I've contributed anything, here goes. Kind of not exactly AU, but I find myself intrigued by who Castle's father actually is. Now, I know that you know that we know that Martha knows - follow that? So, here goes. It is complete and my first one shot.**

**Although I keep telling Andrew W. Marlowe that I really couldn't possibly accept his offer of the Castle rights . . .yeah, like that is gonna happen. The closest I've gotten to that i exchanging a few tweets with Terri Edda. I just borrow the characters, then hand rinse them, let them air dry on a flat surface, and then return them to Him With The Master Plan.**

**Perhaps this takes place somewhere late in Season V (I can only hope) (and perhaps providing an acting role for the equally ruggedly handsome Jeffrey Fillion):**

Castle was almost shoved off balance when the small boy ran into him at neck breaking speed, apparently being chased by a slightly older boy as they weaved through the impatient herd of travelers standing en mass at Gate 7 who were about to board their plane to Dallas (with a connecting flight to New York City). For Castle, it had been a week of signing autographs in Phoenix, Tuscan, Santa Fe, Albuquerque, and other towns with quaint pseudo-Spanish motifs. No much of a chance for the author to practice his French, and, on more than one occasion, he wished that Esposito had accompanied him, rather than Gina. Castle could order in pig-din Spanglish in a Mexican restaurant, and (okay, he had to admit) he was once known to tell a beautiful senorita that he wanted to "play with her castanets"; however, he was discovering exactly how popular the Spanish translations of his Nikki Heat novels had become, and he had learned to smile, nod his head, and then ask "su nombre?" as he signed one volume after another. He hated being away from Kate and Alexis, especially considering the uneasiness developing between the two women since Kate had moved into the loft, but Beckett had insisted that he take the trip, that some distance between Castle and "his girls" might be a good change of pace for the always observant Rick. Besides, it would keep Gina pacified for a few more weeks until he could polish (okay, write) the promised drafts of two new chapters of the next Nikki Heat novel submitted to Black Pawn. So, here he was, and even if meant spending the next six hours with Gina sitting in close proximity to him, he would tolerate it; still, he was more than ready to go home.

Gina, of course, had decided to find out why they had not been given the courtesy of V.I.P. pre-boarding and had wandered off in search of some authority to belittle, and he honestly didn't miss her in the least.

So, she was not a witness the collision of the tall, rock solid author and small speeding demon.

"Daddy, Daddy, Daddy," cried out the smaller of the two boys as he hung onto Castle's pant leg, "Roland is after me!" He immediately tried to hide behind Castle, which earned him glares from several of the more sedate surrounding patrons who mistook the energetic child as Castle's offspring. Simultaneously, several thoughts of what it would be like to have a son of his own rapidly cycled through Rick's head, as he turned his body to look down at the new appendage that had sprouted from his trousers.

"Ridley, that isn't Dad . . ." said the older of the two boys, looking up at Castle as Castle turned his attention from Ridley to Roland.

"That's not Daddy? He looks like Daddy. . ."

Rick Castle felt himself unable to breathe. The face he was looking into was familiar to him: it was his face when he was six or seven years old: oversized feet and hands, a mop of soft brown hair, an off-centered grin, and bright eyes of either bluish-gray or grayish-blue surrounded by thick lashes.

"Sorry, mister," said the older boy, studying Castle with equal curiosity. "I am supposed to be watching my little brother, and he likes to take off without notice, and then I have to catch him before our father realizes that we are both gone . . . again." That last comment was directed primarily to the younger of the two boys.

As expected with brothers, the younger was not intimidated by the other's comments.

Castle smiled at him, and then gently guided Ridley to stand next to his brother. Again, as the pair stood side by side, Rick noticed the undeniable resemblance between the two. No, he thought, between us three. His writer's curiosity was straining to be allowed to investigate this unusual happenstance.

"And, where is your dad?" Castle asked, hoping that his tone was convincingly nonchalant. "Are you getting on this fight?"

"No, we're headed back home. To Chicago. I chased Ridley three gates from where our plane is about to begin boarding." He looked at his younger brother with total disgust. "Dad said that if we cause him to miss another flight, he won't take us anywhere with him from now on." He paused. "And, Ridley, I think this time he really means it!"

Ridley had his own side to the story. "You just don't want me to have any fun, do you?" He folded his arms across his chest in total defiance of his sibling authority figure. Castle realized that this was the same stance that he took as a pre-teen, not to mention that he had been known to still dig in his heels and cross his arms with the same posture. Interesting. . .

Before he allowed himself to continue this line of observation, Castle stood between the brothers to prevent the inevitable pushing war from breaking out. "Okay, guys, let's run over to your gate and make sure everyone is on time."

"Race you. . ." said Riley, and instantly Roland was in hot pursuit, as was Castle (after a momentary pause), and he took off at top speed after the boys. Richard Castle may have forgotten what it was like to be a little kid; but, honestly, was he ever? He knew how to mix the perfect Martini when he was seven (a skill that his mother, the actress Martha Rodgers, had insisted that he not only learn but perfect), and by the time he was fifteen and already standing just over six feet tall, he learned to drive the truck that transported the scenery and costumes for his mother's summer stock presentations. He learned how to flirt with the pretty young ingenues backstage, and the stagehands taught him card tricks (and told him dirty jokes that he had to promise not to repeat to Martha), and each autumn, he was returned to yet another boarding school in New York, where he might spend an entire semester or two until he was suspended by that facility, too.

Truth be told, the Rodgers family was running out of boarding schools to inflict the young Mr. Richard Alexander Rodgers upon.

All of that went through his mind as he found himself running down the corridor, dodging young women with rolling suitcases, teenagers with backpacks, and business men with their briefcases and laptops.

"Sorry, sorry, excuse me . . ." Castle knew that he wasn't making any friends as he made his way around, and possibly through some of the passengers, but he was a forty year old man trying to keep pace with two young boys, and they were demonstrating exactly how fast two children of the male sex could run when they were determined to do so.

By the time he arrived at Gate 10, and more than slightly out of breath, he saw Ridley running to a very tall man whose back was to him, and Ridley clenched the man's pant leg in the same manner he had earlier attached himself to Castle's trouser. "Daddy, I'm here!"

"Me, too," added Roland, as he arrived a split second later. As with all brothers, he had to tattle on his younger sibling, and walked around to face his father so Rick had a clear view of the boy's face as he began to tell his tale, blaming all on his younger brother. "Guess who I had to chase? Past an entire bunch of gates? One guess! Oh, that nice man helped me," he added, as he pointed to where Castle was standing.

The taller man turned his body toward Castle and, for a moment, froze. Castle was sure that his own face had the same expression of total amazement. The man bore much more than a passing resemblance to Richard Castle, but was maybe an additional two inches taller than the author, with eyes that were a deeper blue than Rick's, and he was a little stockier in build, but the rest of the package, down to the slight cleft in the chin, made them near mirror images of one another.

At that time, the boarding began at Gate 10, and the herd of people began to move forward. Castle noted that the man stood more than a full head taller than the rest of the crowd, as did Castle who, as a rule, towered over almost everyone when surrounded by a group, be they fans or members of the 12th Precinct.

Despite the mutual curiosity between the two men, the father's attention was quickly taken up with his overly energetic sons before he had the chance to walk over and either thank or question Castle, and all too shortly, the trio walked to and then past the ticket examiner, entered through the boarding gate door, and were immediately out of Castle's line of vision.

Richard Castle stood immobile. Who was that man? Could he be a relative? Perhaps a cousin? Then as was often the case, Rick let his writer's imagination take complete flight: Did he have a half-brother? Nephews? His mother had always said that she didn't know who had fathered him, but Rick Castle had never really bought that story.

Suddenly, he heard his traveling name being blasted over the intercom. "Passenger Richard A. Rodgers, please report immediately to Gate 7. Passenger Richard A. Rodgers . . ."

Gina must have finally nagged her way into early boarding and then noticed that her former husband was , no surprise there, she thought, and then centered her attention onto the gate attendant to make an announcement over the paging system. He quickly turned, and with a final look at the gate noting both the airline and the flight number, he briskly walked down the corridor filled with rolling suitcases, backpacks, and briefcases, back to the flight that would eventually return him to New York City, to Alexis, to Martha, and back to Kate.

Richard Castle couldn't conceal the small smile on his face. Chicago was a pretty big city, but at least he had the first names of the two brothers. He would ask Ryan to run the passenger list from this flight once he returned to the 12th Precinct. Chances were good that the father had the same surname as the kids, and, if not, he could check to see who was seated near or next to the battling siblings.

Rick had often wondered what his father was like. Despite his proclamations that lack of that piece of information that allowed him to imagine that his father was perhaps a famous astonaut, he really wanted to know his identity and whether or not, at one time, his father actually did love his mother. Maybe this man could tell him what he had always wanted to know. How difficult could it be to track him down? And, could it eventually lead to the identity of his, or their, father?

At least now he had some place to start his new investigation from. He knew that Ryan would obtain the passenger list for him. It might cost Castle a weekend without his Ferrari, but it would be so worth it.

And, besides, he liked Chicago.


End file.
